


Hypoxia

by Anonymous



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Biting, Breathplay, Bruising, Dom/sub Play, Hair-pulling, M/M, Non-Negotiated Kink, Painplay, Rough Sex, Spanking, Spit As Lube, Taunting, Violent Sex, algolagnia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 16:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4311669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames has found a game for Arthur that leads to rewarding results, but can Arthur take the pressure of Eames' need for control?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hypoxia

**Author's Note:**

> Paragraph RP edited into a fic, and not betaed. This is not a fic about abuse, and neither author condones it being labeled as such. Though it can be inferred that the actions taken are wanted, consent is not explicit nor is anything discussed beforehand. Constructed as the beginning of Arthur's breaking in.

"Do you like what you see, Eames?" Arthur asks, standing in front of the Forger clad only in a small towel wrapped around his waist, entire body dripping from a fresh shower.

Eames coughs, attempting to clear the lump from the back of his throat that has suddenly cut off his oxygen. He watches the water droplets intently, leaving patterns on Arthur's creamy skin as they tumble towards the towel on his waist. Arthur regards Eames and calmly approaches him, the towel separating with the movement of his legs.

"You can hand them over any time now," he says, holding out a hand expectantly. 

Eames lounges back into the couch, taking in the scene before him. How does one respond to a remark from such a tempting mouth? He resolves to stay quiet, sipping from his drink to cool off the burn riling up his body temperature. Perking his eyebrow in curiosity, he stares down Arthur, quite clueless as to what he is talking about. Arthur exhales coolly. He knows Eames' games by now, and this might have been one of the Forger's favorites to play.

Generally, after a job Arthur would disappear back into the anonymity he'd carved for himself as soon as possible until the next offer was made. This helped with lessening detection by the mark or any security noticing strange antics. But sometimes, he would stick around at the safe house of the time after clean-up and everyone had left to wash the grime of the day from his body. Eames had discovered this little known habit of his, and had taken to occasionally swiping and hiding his clothes, as Arthur knows he has done now.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, darling." The Forger smiles coolly into his glass of whiskey sour before polishing off the liquid. The smirk stains his face even after the glass has hit the table beside him. It is interesting to see that Arthur is not angry about this little idea he'd had festering in his mind, even though this wasn't the first occurrence. Even if nothing ever became of his first futile attempts at seducing him, he still couldn't give up the chase.

Propping his feet upon the dusty footrest, he admires the musculature in Arthur’s arm, still outstretched even though he knows Eames won't give up the goods that easily. The skin there is perfectly unblemished and unmarked, begging to be marred by something... or someone.

"Alright," Arthur says after a long moment. "I guess I'll just have to find my suit myself again." He turns on his heel, towel flaring out slightly, but he doesn't let it show how the breeze that flutters up and around affects him. The first place he goes to check is underneath the chair across from Eames. He squats down, towel still held firmly in hand, though a view from the front would have revealed all to the world.

Leaning forward in the chair, Eames tries to focus on anything but the towel, though it's difficult when the little scrap of fabric is barely big enough to be classified as a proper body towel. The muscles in Arthur's back bunch and contract as he searches the area across from where the Forger is seated. The simple thought of how they would look as Arthur would be under his body sends a shiver of delight down his spine and straight to his groin. Shifting into a more comfortable position, he adjusts himself properly before resuming his watch on the Point Man.

As he squats, perusing the area under the chair opposite of Eames’ own, the curve of Arthur’s bottom is clearly outlined as the towel threatens to slide even lower on his hips. With a loud cough, Eames tries to gain his composure and fails miserably, roughly spitting out the words.

"You won't find them there. I never hide them there." He wipes a hand across his brow, feeling the dampness of arousal on his skin. He can't even pretend that the heat was left on or the summer humidity is getting to him; it's a balmy seventy-five in the safe house.

Arthur turns his head to glance at the Forger, a look of mild annoyance crossing his features and then setting up permanent residence. "Well, if there ever is a next time this happens, which it won't," he swears, though this is the third time he's sworn such a thing only for Eames to once again find a way to slip his outfits, "I'll remember to check this off the list."

He stands slowly, readjusting the towel in the process, because there were definitely a few moments where he could almost feel breaths ghosting his skin. He looks around and sights a cabinet on the wall. Pursing his lips, he shoots Eames an admonishing look and walks to the cabinet. It's set a bit high up on the wall, and he has to manipulate the small towel into a precarious knot with the ends so he can reach into the cabinet with both hands.

Eames hears the threat spew out of Arthur's mouth, just as he has heard it before. He can only smile inwardly, knowing that somewhere deep inside of Arthur's mind he loves this cat and mouse charade, even if he won't admit it openly to anyone. Why would he bother to continue on showering here, where Eames has access to his clothing instead of his own place, where the Forger can not follow? There was only one obvious answer, one that he was planning on making Arthur confess when he was ready.

Turning to watch as Arthur pads over the concrete to the cabinet on the wall, the scene has become slightly unbearable to the erection that throbs beneath his robe. The Point Man has proceeded to tie the ends of the towel into a make shift sarong in order to free his hands to grasp at the cabinet door that just out of his reach.

Eames stands in a hurry, reaching the wall where Arthur struggles in just a few strides. His obvious height and breadth makes Arthur look smaller than normal as he presses his length into the soft skin of Arthur's back, almost pinning him to the cabinet face against his chest. Reaching above his head he swings open the cabinet door with ease, revealing that indeed the space was empty, just as he knew it would be.

"You're not even getting warm, darling," he all but whispers into Arthur's ear from behind him. His eye watches the trickle of water drip from Arthur's wet hair, flowing down his neck. It takes every bit of restraint not to reach out with his tongue and lick the offending speck of wetness.

Arthur hears the other man approach before he feels him and is enveloped on nearly all sides by him. He tenses automatically, pressing back slightly to test how much give he could get from the larger man if he needed to get away, but in doing so, he feels the unmistakable heaviness of an erection pressing against the curve of his ass.

With a small exhale, bordering on a moan, he turns his head sideways, sending small droplets of water flying and catches Eames' eye. The other man's gaze is heated, pupils blown, and Arthur opens his mouth to start to say something, but then closes it.

He clears his throat, and says evenly, though it's still perceptibly deeper, "You care to be a bit more specific and give me a few hints at least? I don't think this towel is going to hold up much longer."

Palming Arthur's hips with his hands, Eames pulls them back into his now raging erection. He's sure that he is getting his point across, as he can feel Arthur push back into him willingly.

"Mmm, I think that's the idea," Eames hisses, tracing the juncture of Arthur's hip, following it as it disappears under the towel line.

The ragged breath that Arthur tries to inhale could have been equated to a gun shot in a barrel as loud as it sounded in the empty space. Eames' fingers fall lower, his wrist disappearing under the cloth to gently palm Arthur's growing hardness. He hears the Point Man's breath catch, just as he strokes the flesh, moving the skin across the muscle underneath. Arthur exhales in stuttering gasps and places his hands against the wall as leverage. Wrapped in Eames' hand, he begins to both thrust forward into the tightening grip and backwards into the hard length pressed against the cleft of his ass.

He closes his eyes, losing himself to the sensations. It wasn't as if he'd never thought about what sex with Eames would be like, but Arthur always tried to hold a distinction between work and play. He could always brush off his minor habit of playing with that distinction in the form of shower games as momentary lapses of judgement. But as the Forger's hand began to explore his body, he wasn't sure if the times he held the distinctions in the first place were the lapses and the times he wanted to indulge in his thoughts and desires were the right course of action he'd avoided.

As Arthur pushes and pulls his body within his grasp, Eames can't help but to involuntarily grip him tighter. His fingers dig into Arthur's hip, just above where the towel is starting to loosen its tie. His hand is tight like a vice, feeling the throbbing veins within Arthur as he moves. The friction of fabric between the towel and his robe is tantalizing, rubbing his erection in the most delicious way through his tight boxer briefs he wears below it. He's almost positive that this is the hottest dry humping he's ever experienced, regardless if it was male or female.

The smell of Arthur's after shave burns up Eames' nose as he leans in close to the crook of his neck, gently licking the damp skin before nipping the flesh and pulling it into his mouth. He groans, as the taste of him is the perfect mixture of salty and sweet. Better than he imagined in all of the times he'd dreamt about doing this. It was hard to nail down the perfection of Arthur in his dreams, but now, with their bodies separated by millimeters of fabric and the taste of the Point Man on his tongue, he knows he was completely off. There was no way he could remotely come close to duplicating these details in his fantasies.

Arthur groans deeply at the feel of Eames' mouth on a sensitive pressure point and grinds back forcefully on the hard cock behind him. Wanting and needing more, he removes a hand from the wall and brings it to the tie of the towel, fingers deftly working at the knot. In just a few seconds it falls to the floor, one less layer between him and Eames.

He twists his head back, and growls, "Fuck, Eames, are you just gonna tease or are you gonna fucking fuck me?"

The gravity of Arthur's words rocks Eames straight to the core, touching on the point inside his mind that drives him nuts. He growls low against Arthur's skin, grinding his teeth together, locking his jaw up in the process. Unhinging his fingers from the skin of Arthur's hip, he nearly rips the cord holding the robing closed around him. He shrugs from the fabric quickly, releasing his hold on Arthur's cock for only mere moments to escape the pestering thing. As he reaches between Arthur and the cabinet face again, he looks down, seeing that the wet spot of his precum is already dampening the fabric of his boxers. He doesn't miss the curve of Arthur's perfect ass either, and instead of palming him again, he reaches for the fleshiest part of those delicate cheeks, groping them with a firm grasp before releasing them again.

Eames hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, yanking them to the floor in one swift jerk before stepping out of them and positioning himself behind Arthur again. He lays his penis right against the spilt separating one cheek from the other, just to give Arthur an idea of exactly what he's asking for. Eames has never been one to boast about his qualities to another, but he knows that when it comes to the weight he carries between his legs, he is not lacking by any stretch of the imagination. At one point in his life he considered measuring it, but pushed the idea aside as he knew it would only inflate his ego beyond what was acceptable at the time. He didn't need to know a number. He gauged his length and girth by the amount of orgasms he could coax from his lovers.

The motion of Arthur squirming under him made him realize what he was about to accomplish; something he dared not dream would happen in a million lifetimes. The anticipation excites him, causing his dick to twitch and ooze as it stroked against the flesh of another.

Gripping by the hips, Eames yanks Arthur roughly, turning him and pushing towards the couch from which he came from only moments before.

"On all fours... _now_ ," he growled out the command and pointed to the couch. "Face the backing and stick that ass in the air."

Arthur smirks, pleased beyond belief at the reaction he is able to provoke from Eames. He walks, no, sways to the couch, purposefully accentuating the way his naked ass looks only to drive Eames crazier.

He grabs the back of the couch and eases himself down onto all fours, then looks over his shoulder at the Forger with the cockiest grin he's let anyone see. "Come on, then," he breathes heavily. "Show me what you got."

Eyeing Arthur's ass up in the air, Eames stalks over to the couch, eyes black with lust and gripping his cock to give it a few strokes before falling in behind those creamy cheeks of Arthur’s. The skin is too perfect: too white, too unmarked for Eames' liking. He pulls an arm back, bringing it forward with a force against the flesh that stuns that cocky grin right off of the Point Man's face. At first the look he gives to Eames is full of rage, but the after-burn of tingles erupt and Arthur's brow begins to unfurrow as he seems to like the sensation. Eames rubs the now red hand print gently, soothing the place before slapping the skin again, but not as hard as before.

"That's right you cocky bitch, you love it don't you?" The only sounds he hears from Arthur are tiny moans of pleasure as his soothes the spot again.

Finally, Eames places a few fingers between his lips, licking and coating them with saliva to moisten them enough for a make shift lubrication. He slides them from his lips, not missing the look on Arthur's face as he does so. The way his eyes get hazy, the way his jaw goes slack; Eames can see everything despite the awkward angle.

Gently he opens the up Arthur's legs for more access, spreading him wide and coaxing his entry with his thumb. The ripple of pleasure shoots through Arthur's spine, causing him to shake visibly as Eames slides a finger inside of him.

He can feel the muscles clench around his knuckles as they slowly slide in deeper. Loving the sensation, he pinches the bottom of Arthur's unmarred ass cheek, causing him to tighten even further around the single finger. If he didn't know any better, it was as if Arthur had never been with another man, yet somehow Eames seriously doubts it. After a few pushes and pulls, he slides another wet finger in to join the other, watching as Arthur's back arches while the sensations assault him. As he scissors his fingers, opening the cavern wider to accommodate him, he continues to use his free hand to tease Arthur in the most wicked of ways. He reaches under him to stroke his cock, before moving on to run his hands across the flesh of his abdomen and finally stretching further to pinch his nipple. As he rises back to a standing position, he takes the time to kiss the skin on his lower back, just before biting the flesh thereunder.

Arthur groans in the most delicious ways, inhibitions stripped away like a single wet towel. He clutches his hands into tight fists and curls his toes, the pleasure and pain mixture eliciting so many moans, so many whimpers from his lips. It is intriguing, this result of taunting the Forger, and his mind rapidly begins configuring ways to get more and more of this.

At the bite on his back, he can't help but throw his head back and cry out in pleasure. "Eames, _fuuuck._ Have you always wanted to do this to me?" he baits, with a calculated success rate of 82%. "Do you think about doing this to me when I piss you off?"

The taunts coming from Arthur's mouth only fuel the Forger onwards, like positive reinforcement for his wicked delights. With a smirk, he slides yet another finger inside of Arthur, resolving that three of his thick digits is more than adequate in preparation for what's in store for him. His fingernails of the opposite hand rake across the expanse of the Point Man's back, leaving tiny red trails as the spine underneath the flesh and muscle curves further. The sounds coming from Arthur's mouth echo in the empty space, bouncing from the walls and hitting Eames' ears like a tune he could listen to forever. After a few minutes of working him open further, he removes his hand, grabbing the towel that was carelessly tossed aside to clean his hand before gripping the base of his dick and moving into position.

As the tip of him touches the now wet and gaping entryway, his eyes blacken further with desire, bordering dangerously on madness as the urge to fulfill his darkest desires bubbles up inside of him. He looks down at the marks he's left behind on the expanse of skin under him: the hand print, the bite marks and the red lines. It only fuels the flames in his gut to a hotter degree, to the point he can't wait to get inside of Arthur.

"You fucking drive me insane with want, darling. You must know it... you must," manages to spit out venomously.

Arthur burns with need from the bottom of his gut to all his extremities. He can feel his skin tingle with the dissipation of pain, and he arches up, blindly seeking more evidence of Eames' passion to wear on his skin. When he finally feels the hard cock pressing against his prepped and eager hole, he exhales a long shaky breath. But then there is hesitation, and before he can impale his ass on Eames' cock himself, he hears the Forger talking, no, raging at Arthur.

He whips his head to the side and gives Eames a sideways sneer. "Don't be so unprofessional, Mr Eames. And don't delude yourself that you're the only one with desires," he says heavily, beginning to hard rock against the cock lined up at his entrance. "Now get on with it," and he pushes himself completely onto Eames, a ragged moan ripping its way through him.

Eames isn't prepared for the sensation that washes over him, the feeling of drowning but sucking in as much air as could fit in his lungs. Arthur's ass is tight, tighter than anything he's known in a very very long time. The fact that he shoved his ass right onto Eames' throbbing cock was astounding, as the Forger was almost positive the immense pain is ricocheting through Arthur's brain now that he had him almost fully inside of him. Eames moves the hand that is covering the last portion at the base of himself, reaching forward to grab a handful of the slick wet inky blackness on Arthur's head. He pulls, lightly at first but increases the force as his goal was to change the angle of Arthur's body below him. He hears the whimpers of pain as his lover's back rises slowly, his hands finding the back of the couch for support and a place to defer the pain as he grips the material tightly. Eames' other hand palms Arthur's hip as if it was made to fit there just so, in preparation to pull him back for the final inch.

His voice darkens to a menacing decibel, enjoying the pain and the pleasure he is inflicting, reveling in the fact that Arthur seems to enjoy this as well.

"I'm going to make you beg for your desires Arthur, I'm going to bring you to the cusp of release and I'm going to deny you the satisfaction. I'm going to make you wish you wouldn't have made me wait so fucking long for this. And I'm going to give you every detail, every spark of nerves firing in that delectable brain of yours. Not because you deserve it... oh _no no no_ darling. You'll get pleasure because I'm **that fucking gracious**..."

He pushes the last of his length inside of Arthur, holding back the urge to hiss loudly with pleasure, as he is supposed to be the dominate one and exude the confidence that comes with the position.

Arthur exhales through his teeth as his usually perfected styled hair is being handled so roughly, pulling his head back to its limit. The joints of his hands are turning white from the effort and strain of holding onto the couch. He could tell Eames was in full dominance mode by his verbal and physical language and he smiled wryly. As if to defy the statements Eames was making, he bucked his hips unexpectedly, listening for the telltale stifling of a moan from the Forger's dirty mouth. When he hears a hitch in Eames' breathing, he knows he has him. Arthur twists his head, even though he can feel hair strands beginning to break, and it pisses him off that Eames, fucking Eames thinks he has the right to dole out any pleasure he finds in this by his own will, to deny him anything he wants, to grab his hair…  
  
"Eames, why don't you stop with the verbal masturbation and actually _do_ something, hmm? I've yet to be impressed," he says in a low calm voice, and then with the smallest gesture that could be missed from the angle his head is held, he flicked his eyes downward and adds, "by anything."

Releasing his hold on Arthur's hair in a quick fashion, he catches Arthur by the throat, pulling him back against the broad expanse of his chest. The remarks he made bruise his pride, but only briefly as he realizes that they haven't really begun to explore where this might take them. Pushing his fingers into the hipbone and gently closing his hand around the tightened throat, he slides his hips swiftly backwards before slamming into Arthur again, this time none to gently, and constricting on his windpipe, denying him the access to air. The thrill rushes through him as this scenario clearly scares the Point Man. He can feel the shiver lick down his spine as he continues to pull back and allow a breath before closing the airway again, pushing in as far as the entry will take him.

He purrs, close to Arthur’s ear with a voice that can only be described as silk. “Are you enjoying yourself, love?” He thrusts in with more force, this time not allowing a breath every time he slides out. The little whimpers escaping from Arthur’s mouth tell him when to let go, when the lack of oxygen is too much to bear.

Eames quickens his pace, holding the position before pushing Arthur’s body back down, releasing his throat after a long period of asphyxiation, hearing him pull in needy breaths as the onslaught continues. The sensation of Arthur tightening around him as he breathes is quite exhilarating, as he grabs the other hip to pound into him even harder than before. He laughs, in the most taunting way as Arthur cries out to the darkness around him.

The first thing that goes through Arthur’s mind is that Eames is going to kill him, right then and there with his cock hilted in his ass. He gurgles against the pressure on his windpipe while wanting to moan from the motion of Eames’ pumping into and out of his ass like a piston. He picks up on the rhythm of when he can breathe, when he can’t breathe, shivering with anticipation for when he can breathe, and when he’s not allowed.

It’s tantalizing, this loss of control, and as he hears the Forger’s voice say things he feels more than understands. He whimpers, and the rhythm is changed, pushing him towards the brink of unconsciousness.

And then all nearly too late (or is it all too soon?), Eames releases him, air rushing back into his lungs like a broken levee, and he nearly drowns at the sudden availability. All the while the Forger moves himself into and out of Arthur at a brutal pace, fingers in grips he _knows_ will leave bruises later. But he doesn’t let himself think about how his skin will look in the mirror later as he inspects each and every mark he’s earned, right now Eames is _laughing_ as if he thinks he’s won. But Arthur can’t help the cry of pleasure that rips through his body as he draws closer to sweet release.

The muscles begin to clamp down around him as Eames pushes in deeper, angling his hips just so that he hits into the deepest parts of Arthur’s cavity. Just before he thinks that the Point Man is about the let go, just before he tumbles over that cliff of ecstasy, Eames quickly withdraws himself, leaving Arthur hungry and unsated, growling out in a rage of unfulfillment. He smirks, before swinging back an arm and connecting to Arthur’s other ass cheek, unmarred by any marks of their fucking. He dares not call it what he wishes it could be, for love was not being made here. This was lust... pure, unaltered lust in motion. The skin under his palm tingles as he soothes it with a caress, watching as Arthur’s eyes fixate on his own, filled with a mixture of fury and wanting. Wanting to reach the brink of release and actually make it over the edge; fury that Eames is clearly denying him the pleasure, just as he promised.

Staring back into Arthur’s mocha colored glare, he challenges him to try and fuck with him, just in his stare alone. He imagines that if he was in front a mirror, the look would be completely threatening to someone that wasn’t of the knowledge of his character.

“Get up,” he commands. When Arthur refuses to move, the temptation to drag him off the couch rips through his muscles and causes his cock to twitch as he resists. Eames barks the command again, pinching the cheeky flesh of Arthur’s ass to hopefully get him moving faster.

Arthur scowls, and rises from the couch slowly, nakedness doing nothing to diminish the dignified way he typically carries himself when fully clad in a tailor fitted three-piece suit. He clearly was not forgetting the backhand he received moments before, even if the some of the pain was to be soothed away with a touch, raising his own hand to the burning mark left behind. He wonders idly if he’d even be able to keep a mental running tally of inflictions and afflictions.

“Eames...” he began in a low voice, retaliation on the tip of his tongue and in the ready flex of his hands. There was a lot he could put up with, and had already, but he’d begun to skirt the line of getting what he wants and breaking Eames’ nose. Instead, Arthur relaxes his hands, nostrils flaring as he exhales.

The air pushes from Arthur’s lungs in a huff of frustration, and while he knows that withholding a release is torture, it makes it all the more entertaining in Eames’ head that it is the normally calm Point Man that is flustered. Dropping his body to the couch, he positions himself on the center cushion, spreading his legs wide and palming the weight of his scrotum in his hand, attempting to draw Arthur’s attention downward. Arthur’s eyes never falter from his face, almost glaring holes straight through his skull. Eames sighs in frustration, he never imagined that Arthur would be so against his unnecessary roughness or the domination he was pushing upon him.

He lifts a hand, motioning for Arthur to come and have a seat on his lap. For the briefest of moments, he sees the urge to turn and walk away in the furious depths of his eyes. The lick of fear raises his back slightly from the couch, reaching for Arthur’s hand in an attempt to pull him down on top of him. The hand retracts quickly, and in an lightning fast motion, whips across his face, cutting into his cheek before removing the contact from his skin just as quickly.

Touching the cheekbone where the blow fell, he pulls his fingers away to find small droplets of blood. While the fury burns within him, he wasn’t completely mad.

“I suppose I deserve that.” Eames chuckles lightly.

Arthur continues to scowl at Eames, then mutters under his breath, “You deserve a lot more than that.” He did however step closer to the Forger, placing his hand against the offending wound.

“You can make up for the rest later,” he adds, slipping his hand behind Eames’ head and drawing him forward into a hungry kiss. He nips at Eames’ full bottom lip, teeth a tad too sharp to be completely pleasurable for the older man, but Arthur finds that he could care less at this point. Eames growls, wrapping a hand behind Arthur’s head, crushing their mouths together harder with one hand. The other digs into Arthur’s hip again, overlaying bruises over bruises, and Arthur hisses at the pain. Eames’ hands are persistent in trying to pull him down and closer. Arthur twists away, panting hard and looking down at the completely debauched Forger.

A corner of Arthur’s mouth twitches up, and he places one foot on the couch next to Eames’ thigh, his legs spreading wide in front of the other man. Placing his hands on Eames’ shoulders, he shifts his weight and swings his other foot up on the other side of the man now sitting beneath him. Eames looks up at him, shit-eating grin plastering his face, and roughly wraps a hand around the hard cock in front of his face. He licks his lips involuntarily, causing Arthur to bite on his own in anticipation.

The swell of juices oozing from the tip of Arthur’s dick taunts him, teasing him that he was more than ready for the taking. Eames drags his tongue across the sensitive flesh, keeping his stare locked onto Arthur’s face as best as he can from this angle. While the Point Man stands taller at the moment, Eames has not felt a dip in the adrenaline rush that dominance gives him. He can take the light punishment Arthur was more than eager to dish out. But he’d played these head games many many times before, with many other lovers, though none as unwillingly to fully submit as Arthur.

Continuing to move his tongue across the surface of the head, he moistens the tip before slowly making his way down the shaft with his mouth. It isn’t until the head is touching the back of his throat that Arthur’s head falls back and he breaks the intense stare. The Forger chuckles inwardly, marking off another small victory in the conquering of Arthur.

Arthur involuntarily threads his fingers through Eames’ short hair, scratching lightly at the scalp as Eames sucks and strokes, working him up to a point and slowing down to make them both savor the moment. He snakes a hand up Arthur’s thigh after a few moments, gently pinching the flesh as he pulls him fully into this mouth, massaging the head of his penis with his throat. Eames feels the clench within Arthur’s thighs and the grip tighten on his scalp. It is all of the signs that he needs. He slips Arthur’s flesh from his mouth, plugging the hole with his thumb, as if it would block the excreting juices.

He turns his eyes upward as Arthur’s flash back at him brilliant and glazed with passion. “I’m not quite done with you yet darling.”

Arthur could knee the man below him. Instead, his eyes dart lower, pleased to see that Eames was still hard enough to fuck. And if he wasn’t, Arthur had no qualms about getting him there. He eases himself down to his knees, settling on top of Eames with a sly smile on his face.

“Oh? And what more do you want to do to me?” He rolls his hips into Eames, drawing it out as their cocks rub together. He leans closer, bringing his mouth right up to the other man’s ear, and says hotly, “Do you want to see me fuck myself on your cock?” He accompanies every few words with a lick, a kiss, and then a bite on Eames’ earlobe, drawing a low groan from the back of the other man’s throat.

He continues to rub himself against the Forger, closing his eyes at the relatively small sparks of lust it sends coursing through him. After a while one becomes almost desensitized to regular touches, needing and craving more and more. He bends his head down, trailing rough kisses full of teeth and tongue from Eames’ ear down to his neck, where he scrapes his teeth over a pressure point. Beneath him, Eames jerks upwards by reflex, and Arthur smiles widely.

“Do you want me?” he asks heavily, biting down hard on his collar bone, and he knew in the morning it would leave a vicious looking bruise.

The words came out like a grunt before Arthur’s teeth locked onto the collar bone and then began to suck and lick at the skin hard and fast. Arthur asks the question again, this time against the skin and a little softer. He bites down on the opposite collarbone, just as Eames figured he would, but the preparation in his mind does nothing for the feeling that jolts down his nervous system, pulsing straight to the tip of his cock. Eames bucks his hips wildly off the couch, assured that this was all the answer that Arthur would need, but the Point Man presses on, grinding his ass into the length of him, nipping and licking the skin of his chest.

It is hard to relax with the weight of someone above you and the torture they can inflict in that position. Eames shifts his hips, allowing himself to recline his back a little better on the couch while cupping Arthur’s ass for support. He closes his eyes briefly, only to open them to find Arthur’s tongue circling his left nipple. Watching the pink muscle work around his chest is delicious, he can’t turn away as Arthur traces lazy patterns across Eames’s tanned chest. He watches him take a nipple into his mouth, rolling it in his lips before biting down with a force that causes Eames to throw his head back in pleasure.

Arthur bites hard, monitoring Eames’ expression, his breathing, even how eagerly he presses his cock up against the curve of his ass. With long, smooth laps, he licks the red nipple, sending shivers throughout the Forger’s body. One hand roughly plays with the other nipple and the other hand reaches below him to take hold of Eames’ hard dick, pulling away and lifts himself more fully onto his knees. At the touch of Arthur’s hand on his length, Eames’ eyes fly open and latch onto Arthur’s wolfishly grinning face.

Arthur licks his lips slowly, and in one smooth motion he guides Eames’ dick into his asshole. He shudders as the length and girth refills him, and feels just a twinge of guilt for saying Eames’ cock is anything but magnificent. At the time he might have deserved the remark, but acknowledgement of this fact did not mean he had to enlighten the other man about how he felt.

As Arthur settles on top of Eames, he feels the rough fingers find their way to his thighs, in part kneading and part punishing. Arthur groans loudly, relishing in the touch.

Eames feels every groove and clench as Arthur positions himself on top of him, taking inch by inch until he is stretching him to capacity once more. He closes his eyes, loving the pressure of another man on his hips. He grasps at the only thing that could anchor him to reality, kneading and digging his fingers into the muscles of Arthur’s thighs. The noise that escapes his mouth was nothing less than perfection, causing the Forger to arc upwards driving himself in deeper.

He raises a palm, clutching at the tense edge of Arthur’s jaw line as he grinds his teeth together, riding the peaks and valleys of gratification. Sliding his thumb towards the pink expanse of his bottom lip, Eames stares longingly into the set of eyes in front of him. He clutches at the hip bone he knows now by memory, rocking the weight of Arthur’s body so that he pulls him almost free of his body before sliding back to the base. The urge to slam his eyes shut is almost too great, almost enough that he feels his head start to lull back as Arthur’s hands find his back. He clings to the Forger’s body like a second skin, digging the tiny daggers of his nails into the black swirls of Eames’ body art. A hiss escapes his lips, as the pain ripples through his muscles while Arthur’s hands drift lower.

Arthur scrapes his nails lower on Eames’ back, riding him up and down. At the hiss of pain mingling with pleasure, Arthur nuzzles his head into Eames’ neck. It is a gesture that for anyone else would denote a tender loving-ness, but in Arthur’s case he is merely picking a prime spot on the Forger’s neck, and once found sinks his teeth down hard, tonguing the flesh caught in his mouth.

Eames nearly pitches forward from the couch, kept down by Arthur’s weight. Arthur releases his bite on the tender skin, licking the swollen red section where teeth marks will be evident for days. He murmurs raggedly against his neck, “Eames, I swear to god, if you don’t touch my cock and get me off, I will bite off your ear.” He shudders with the movement of the cock pumping into and out of him. “And I will _torch_ your bathrobe...”

The idle threats pass through Arthur’s lips, but the sensation that drums through Eames’ head drowns out the words as his pulse bangs louder in his head. He pulls on Arthur’s hips, slamming him down as fast and hard as he can possibly move the weight of another body, desperate for some sort of release after what seems like an eternity of torture. Regardless of the need to possess this man; to tease him to the point of madness, to claim him and mark him for his own, what pushes one to an unhinged state inevitably effects the other. His fingers tighten around the bone of the hip and the other hand roughly searches for Arthur’s cock, finding the muscle and stroking in time with the thrusts from his hips.

The sensation begins to become unbearable, to a point that all Eames can see is a haze of red filling his vision. He searches Arthur’s face for a moment, finding his head thrown back and his eyes slammed shut, exposing the expanse of his neck. As the clenching of release begins deep within his body, a cry of rapture rolls out into the empty space, sending Eames into a frenzy as Arthur’s cum explodes from his body onto where their bodies are joined. As the last tremor rocks through Arthur’s cock, he unhands him, throwing the free arm around his partner’s back, crushing his mouth against the flesh of his neck. He bites swift and fast as he drives himself over the edge. The tremors rock through the Forger’s spine like an earthquake, and he can only imagine how loud of a roar he would project if the skin in his mouth was not so sweet.

After a few tiny ripples pass through the pair, the air begins to cool around them as the moment of lust has finally been sated. Eames licks and kisses the ugly bruise that’s already formed under this mouth, apologizing the only way he knows that he can. Something tingles in his brain, urging him to look at Arthur’s face, just to gauge that this was not all done in a fit of pity or an unwanted act of passion of the moment.

Arthur breathes in and out for a few long moments, waiting for his vision to clear before he can process much of anything. When his head stops spinning, he sees Eames looking at him, apprehension and worry etched across his brow. Arthur stares at him for what feels like eternity, then he notices the red marks he’s left on the forger’s neck and shoulders. He leans closer, flicking his eyes back to Eames, then softly kisses the bruising marks.

Arthur then begins to pull away, disentangling himself from the Forger without a word. Eames’ eyes drop, not knowing what to do as he remains seated on the couch, devoid of Arthur’s warmth.

Arthur is a few paces away when he calls out over his shoulder, “You’re a sticky mess, Eames. Are you going to join me in the shower or what?” Eames looks up, his trademark smile spreading quickly across his face before he pulls himself to his feet, quickly jogging off to the shower for another round.


End file.
